Misery
by Jacalyn Hyde
Summary: Misery does not love company. Misery tolerates company. Misery might even need company. But love is much more complicated. Snapshots in the relationship of Bellatrix and Voldemort, Marauder Era with their canon 24-year age-difference.
1. Preface

**"Do I need you? _Yes and no_. Do I want you? _Maybe so_… Did you plan this? _All along_. Did you care if- _it was wrong_? ... Misery loves company and company loves more. _More loves everybody else, but hell is others_." –Emilie Autumn. "Misery Loves Company." **

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She cannot recall exactly how or when they first met. She asked him at one point and he assured her that they've only been seeing each other for about a year. She doesn't believe him, though she is certain it's the only lie he has ever told her. It must have been more than a year though. Surely, if it wasn't, she would be able to recall a time when she was younger, more innocent, with her destiny still being written and not intertwined with his.

A year ago, she was fifteen. If what he says is true, then, a year ago, she should have had concerns of her own: familial obligations, schoolwork, and stupid boys. Yet she can't recall any of that and she doesn't want to. _He_ is her life now, and, as far as she can tell, he always has been. That's the way she wants it. Or, perhaps, it's the way _he_ wants it; there isn't really a difference in her mind.

She doesn't think that she has ever really been afraid of him, though the few people who have seen them together seem to think that she should be. They say he's merciless, manipulative, dark, selfish, cruel... But she doesn't care. She has always trusted and respected him, perhaps the fear you would expect is there underneath it all, but she neither realizes nor admits to it.

There are things he does that scare her: when he hits her with curses, so that she can experience their affects firsthand and, therefore, be more efficient at casting them; or when he shoves her up against a wall or holds her in place with a determined, almost lustful look in his eyes and she doesn't know if he wants to kiss her or kill her, or do something else entirely. Yet what scares her more than anything else is the single word that he has forbidden her to say. She wants to break that rule, and scream the word, but, unfortunately, she is either too foolish or not foolish enough to dare.

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He knows every detail of her life as well as he understands his own. There are a few things he doesn't know, but he, unlike her, can accept that, simply because those little things do not matter. He doesn't understand how or why the little girl has so much power and potential or exactly how to define what he feels toward her. He can't explain- even to himself –why he has never held anything quite as precious as her before. Never before has he been overcome by two impossible options: the compulsion to destroy and the desire to protect her.

He doesn't know whether he took her virginity or if she gave- even offered –it to him. He doesn't know where her mind goes when it is so obviously not focused on the spells he tries to teach her. He does not know why she insists on measuring their relationship- if you can really call it that –in time rather than accomplishments.

He does know that she _should_ be afraid but she isn't, not by his definition of the word or her own. There are times when he wants to- _needs to_ –see her cry, bleed, and scream… _suffer_. There are times when he can restrain himself and times when he doesn't bother- doesn't care enough to, and, unbelievably, she takes it. Only verbalizing protest in her screams, never in her words, she's even careful to mask the pain in her thoughts and facial expressions.

He knows that when he uses her- for sex, torture, or otherwise –she is unnaturally calm. She's confused and apprehensive, but never truly afraid. Her eyes, aside from shutting occasionally in order to accompany her open mouth in twisting into an expression of agony- (or, much more rarely, pleasure) -never leave his gaze. There is so much emotion in them, primarily trust and adoration, a ridiculous amount of both. He knows he finds her fascinating and that she reciprocates that sentiment. He also knows that he shouldn't care for her as much as he does.

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**(Author's Note: Special thanks to Sarah -xoxLewrahxox- who provided helpful criticism and encouragement on my first draft; and to Sophie -Aragonevenstar4eva- who read my sneak peeks and anticipated the story. All reviews are treasured.) **


	2. Gift

**"Happiness is a face that don't look good on me. Misery's my company. Misery is looking for me." -Good Charlotte, "Misery." **

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There is a silver chain around her neck. Dangling from it is a heart-shaped pendant: an emerald with a tiny snake carved into it.

"It's beautiful…" She comments finally. Several moments of silent uncertainty have passed since he clasped it around her neck. She appreciates it, but there is an issue she can't ignore. "What does it mean?"

His eyes narrow, perhaps in annoyance. "What are you asking?"

"Is it an apology?" She shrugs. "A compliment? A promise?"

"It is a _necklace_, Bella."

"I know that, but…" she persists. She brings her right hand up to run her thumbnail over the charm and then make a fist around it nervously. "But sometimes men give presents- _jewelry_ –in order to express things they don't want to say."

"Such as?" He prompts coldly.

"Is it your way of saying you're sorry for what happened last night?"

His annoyed expression does not waver. The girl frowns before attempting another guess. "Maybe you're showing me how much I mean to you? Maybe I'm just as rare and precious as this gemstone? Or maybe the sentimental value is…" She trails off when he meets her eyes, challenging the question before it is even formulated. "No?"

"No."

"Well… Before my parents got married, Cygnus gave Dru-"

"_No_." He sighs. "Stop looking for significance that isn't there."

This is her first real relationship. She inevitably compares every detail of it to what she has seen her parents and couples at school go through, even where there are absolutely no similarities. She calls her parents by their first names in another flawed attempt at feigning adulthood. She wants to communicate to them, but, more importantly, to him, that she has no respect for them. She also makes things so much more complex than they need to be: asking questions, challenging rules, searching for nonexistent significance in everyday objects, tools and little gifts…

She tilts her head to one side and chews thoughtfully on her lower lip. She studies his expression while he mentally observes her. Her hand has opened again and the charm is now being caressed between her thumb and index finger. "So, it's just a necklace?"

Their reasons are extremely different, but she is just as disappointed in the lack of romantic meaning in the situation as he is with her right now. He sighs again and prepares to explain further, in order to avoid this issue any other time he chooses to present her with gifts.

"What _happened_ last night, Bella, was as much your fault as it was mine." That nullifies one of her ideas. Subconsciously, her hand moves from toying with the pendant on her neck to rubbing her upper left arm, just one of several areas bearing fresh bruises. She frowns but concedes nonverbally.

"If there were a need for an apology, I would make one, but there isn't," He continues. "You were warned and you didn't listen, perhaps you will play by the rules next time. Consequences are more than justified when you don't, therefore it makes no sense to offer you a sort of bribe to forgive me."

"I forgive you anyway," she chirps unhelpfully.

"That is not the point… Your next guess, I believe, was that I meant the necklace as a token of appreciation." She nods. "Well, you are mistaken. My _dear, sweet Bella_…" he adds a sarcastic edge to the adjectives and her pet name. "… as useful and amusing as you can be, let us not forget that you need me a great deal more than I even _want_ you. If I ever have the urge to inform you that you are beautiful or making good progress, then I will tell you so, I won't waste time with gestures or-"

"_Gifts_?"

"It's a necklace!" He snaps, losing patience. "Nothing less and nothing more. It's pretty and you like it, as I knew you would. Stop looking for additional meaning; you won't find it. And stop comparing me to other men, especially your father. Stop-"

"It's beautiful," she interjects, avoiding argument. "I love it." Her fingers return to the charm and she steps forward, closing the distance enough to kiss his cheek before immediately stepping backward. "I shouldn't question your generosity, I'm sorry."

"Get back to your studying," he orders, no longer remembering his reason for giving her the necklace in the first place. She has ruined whatever significance it might have possessed, and yet, she deserves it.

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**(Author's Note: Dear readers, I ask for your help. I am looking for recommendations of songs that include the word "Misery" in their title or lyrics. Or any other songs you think fit this story's theme to be used as quotes in each chapter. Also, a very big "thank you" to Sophie -Aragonevenstar4eva- for assuring me that this chapter was, indeed, good enough to publish. Reviews will be cherished. Love. -Lia.) **


	3. Please

(A/N: Firstly, an apology to all of you. I am _so sorry_ for how inconsistent I have been and will likely continue to be with reviews and updates. And, secondly, a dedication in two parts: to Az- Inkfire -who has never given up on me. And Sophie- Aragornevenstar4Eva -who's birthday is today.)

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**"... And, oh! I've been down this road before with a passion that turns into pain." -Pink, "Misery". **

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_(WARNING: dark and emotional scene with hints at non-con.) _

Between her screams and desperate attempts to suppress her screaming, a single coherent word escapes her, "_Please_!" It is not an unusual word, it's spilled from her lips enough times for various reasons: begging permission to try something new (as most teenagers would), asking to be excused from an unpleasant situation or task, or attempting to convince him that she is mature and prepared enough to learn and experience even darker magic that he has no intention of ever exposing her to. (_Stubbornness_, which is, again, typical and teenage.)

Then again, it is also something that sets her apart. How many sixteen-year-olds spend their Saturday nights willingly exposed to a bombardment of curses (forgivable and otherwise)? This torture lost its educational purpose long ago. Bella has mastered casting every spell he thought to teach her, and she undoubtedly understands their affects. He's not sure if it's for her sake or for his own that they continue this ritual, but she has yet to complain about it and it never fails to be at least remotely amusing for him.

Keeping his wand trained on her, he smirks mentally and then physically at those thoughts.

"_Please_!" His concentration wavers slightly when the word escapes her again and then a third time. No, it isn't an unusual word for a woman or a child, even one such as Bella. What is unusual is that she has never used it before in this particular situation. He has barely a moment to ponder this before she screams another word, one that is foreign and completely unexpected: "**Stop**!"

"_Stop_?" He repeats, frowning. He'd be less surprised if she'd randomly spoken in Japanese or even Parsletongue. Over the past year, several odd words have escaped her: bits of profanity, pieces of dialogue half-remembered from the French lessons she abandoned as a child, even a few words she made up herself. Thus far, "_stop_" is the first to actually shock him.

Shock, for most, would turn to confusion and then a process to find an explanation. For him, however, it is a foreign concept, one he is not sure how to handle and it somehow turns into an odd combination anger and amusement. "Bellatrix," he murmurs, using her given name for the first time in months. "Look at me."

She doesn't seem to hear him at first. She trembles and whispers a short, incoherent phrase repeatedly. It's only when he takes a step toward her that she finally lifts her head enough to meet his eyes. After a few seconds, she lowers her gaze back to the floor and resumes her whispering.

Annoyance and uncertainty battle to become his next dominant emotion, but there is no clear winner by the time he acts, so it is with a combination of the two that he grasps a fistful of her hair, forces her head up again, and glares directly into her eyes. "You've never asked me to stop before. Why now? What's changed?"

"Please!" She gasps, grasping at his arm, attempting to free herself from his hold, actually trying to fight him off.

"'_Please_' isn't an explanation, Bella. It's a worthless little-"

"PLEASE!" She interrupts, screaming this time with more pain and desperation than she's expressed since… _when_? When he marked her, maybe?

Still grasping her hair in one hand and his wand in the other, he kneels to join her on the ground. He presses the tip of the wand against her throat, keeping the curse at its same intensity but letting the presence of its source add to her fear.

A brilliant combination of horror and agony graces her features. She's beautiful as ever with her face alternatively white and red, tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks and blood almost completely covering her lips (did it come from her nose or her mouth? It seems impossible to know for certain.)

An impulse strikes him suddenly, one he doesn't even consider denying. Still maintaining the curse, he pulls her hair more firmly and drags her face to his. He licks the blood off her lower lip, lingering for an extra moment when he discovers its still-dripping source (she bit her lip, again). Then he kisses her, deeply with impassioned forcefulness. This is the first time he's kissed her _while_ torturing her. The combination proves irresistible. He wonders if he could muster enough concentration to ravage her while remaining focused enough to keep her under the curse.

It's tempting, this new idea, he can't believe it's never occurred to him before. He wants her screaming and writhing with an impossible combination of pleasure and agony, too shocked to completely process either sensation, but instead experiencing both until the feelings blur together, until she can't understand the difference between them…

The girl tries to scream but he kisses her again, more violently, capturing that attempt, silencing, savoring, and almost tasting it.

She whimpers into his mouth, but it's not her usual wanton eagerness, it's an actual cry of protest. She adds to this by attempting to snatch his wand from him. She succeeds only in shaking his concentration and temporarily freeing herself from the torture curse.


	4. Stop

**"But ain't it true? It takes what it takes; And sometimes we get too smart too late. One more heartache for me. Another night of misery" -Pink, "Misery."**

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_(Continued from Chapter 3)_

She takes her first pain-free breath in what feels like hours. This oxygen somehow has a taste; it's reminiscent of the sweetest and rarest "special occasion" wines and chocolates. She doesn't know what's wrong any more than he does but she does understand her own limitations. She does know that just moments ago she could feel her nerves tearing and something in her mind just felt _wrong_.

She knows the torture curse has been known to cause permanent damage to victims. Only now does she wonder if it's too late, if all their harmless play-torture sessions have actually done some damage. Would the physical or mental affects kill her first?

_Kill me?_ She objects to her own thoughts. Surely that's an exaggeration. Torture alone rarely kills people, he taught her that. It doesn't change the fact that she felt like she was about to die, but… would he have let that happen?

She doesn't get a chance to ponder that question. Another pain strikes her, it's not as strong as the torture curse, but the fact that it's unexpected makes it hurt more than a simple slap to her face should.

"I've told you all along, Bella, that I would punish you if you ever tried-"

"No!" She screams, shocking both of them. _Not now_, she begs mentally, her eyes filling with tears yet again. Tomorrow will be fine; she can recover by then. But not now. If he so much as touches her again tonight, she'll break, she just knows it. "Please, _please_ stop!"

He sheaths the wand in a pocket, however temporarily, and takes her chin in one hand, still gripping her hair in the other and forces her to meet his eyes. "What has gotten into you?" She'd shake her head if he wasn't holding it in place, instead, she shivers and says nothing.

"I've hurt you before, Bella," he continues, genuinely scaring her for the first time. "I've taken things from you. All that you haven't given willingly, I've taken: your blood, tears, and screams, your thoughts, your innocence… your _sanity_…. Why, my Bella, should I stop _now_?"

"Plea-" is all she manages before he hits her again, then lets go. She curls up on the ground, in a pathetic and desperate attempt to protect herself. With a wand, she might stand a chance of defending herself until he calmed down. Without one, she's helpless, completely at his nonexistent mercy.

"_No. Stop. Please_." He repeats her words mockingly. "Has your vocabulary really been reduced to three words?"

"_No!_" Too late, she realizes this is one of the three. She's not looking up, but she knows he's rolling his eyes, she can almost feel the gesture, she's seen it enough times. Say something, anything else, she orders herself. Say SOMETHING.

"_Love_!" The forbidden word is out before she considers it mentally.

"What was that?" The condescending tone is replaced by a cold, reprimanding one.

"If you love me," she sobs. "If you care at all… you'll stop this. It's too much. You have to… please…"

"_Cruci_-"

The girl chooses that moment to fall unconscious… _or pretend to?_

The unfinished incantation does nothing. He sighs in frustration, stands, and considers the situation for a moment before disapparating.

**_(To be continued...) _**


	5. Why

(Author's Note: Yes, I'm back- _for real this time_. Everything you need to know is on my profile page. Also, happy belated birthday to Aragornevenstar4Eva. Review, please. -Lia.)

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**"You say your faith is shaken and you may be mistaken. You keep me wide awake and waiting for the sun.I'm desperate and confused, so far away from you. I'm getting there, I don't care where I have to roam. Why do you do what you do to me, yeah? Why won't you answer me? I am in misery." -Maroon 5, "Misery."**

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_(continued from Chapter 4)_

The moment she's left alone, Bella forces herself to sit up. The pain subsides slowly and is quickly replaced by an entirely different kind of agony. Her hands curl into fists and she lets her fingernails dig into her palms. When that pain becomes too much to bear, she only presses harder. She inhales sharply as tears stream freely down her cheeks, then squeezes her eyes shut tightly, screaming as loud as she can.

She finally begins to calm nearly two minutes later when her throat is raw from all tonight's screaming and the few drops of blood she drew are beginning to dry in the slowly-healing crescent-shaped cuts on her palms. She hugs her knees against her chest and shivers. Her thoughts are scattered and emotion and she is much too exhausted for anything else.

It's never hurt like _that_ before. There's always pain, though. _He_ makes the rules. He controls her pain just as certainly as he controls every other aspect of her life. It hurts as much or as little as he wants it to. She doesn't think she's ever asked for it, one way or another but she can't say that she's surprised that he refused to stop the torment; only that she is shocked, nonetheless, by just how much that refusal hurt her- _terrified_ her.

She shakes her head slowly in a gesture of subconscious disbelief, brushes her tears away and shakily gets to her feet. She crosses to the doorway and lingers there for a few moments, leaning against the frame and staring out into the empty hallway.

It's just an old, abandoned house hidden somewhere in Muggle London that they've been using all summer as a meeting place for their lessons as well as the occasional overnight stay. He doesn't actually live here. She's never seen his real home and she can't remember if he's seen hers or not. Regardless, this place is everything they need it to be: remote, spacious, and generally quiet.

Right now, her parents believe she's having dinner with a friend from school. She went as far as forging the girl's handwriting for a fake letter confirming the story. The excuse got her the time she needed for tonight, but, as much as she wants to curl up here and cry herself to sleep; as much as she wants to tell him she's sorry and beg him to run away with her, she _can't…_ and she'll have to go home eventually.

Bella forces herself to stand up straight, inhaling a deep breath and smoothing out her skirt. She starts walking in the direction of the main staircase but she freezes in place almost immediately, tense with the notion that she's being watched. She spins in a small circle but sees nothing. She whispers a weak, "_hello_?" that is immediately met with a sharp, drawn-out hiss in response.

_Nagini_. The snake looks about as happy to see Bella as the girl is to see her but she moves, nonetheless, with a clear purpose. She flicks her tongue and lifts her head just slightly off the ground then turns to slither down the hallway across from the stairs, toward the front door. Bella frowns but she follows the snake regardless.

When Bella places one shaky hand on the doorknob, Nagini merely lingers in the entryway. She extends her tongue once again, this time with clear disdain in her eyes. Bella does her best to feign boredom and she sticks out her own tongue in a moment of impulsive spite. The snake merely turns her head away in response. She beings to curl up in her place. Bella jerks the door open suddenly, almost enough to strike Nagini who hisses (enough to actually frighten Bella this time) before slinking off in another direction. The girl considers this a small victory on her part and the smile on her face is not entirely forced. It vanishes almost immediately though; when she sees _him_.

He doesn't say a word but his stance is alarmingly calm. He's not looking at her but his eyes are seemingly focused on the stars above. His thin lips are parted just slightly, perhaps with an unspoken idea. Bella sighs and follows his gaze. Her eyes automatically gravitate to the North Star but she can locate any constellation she can think of. She had most of the summer night sky committed to memory even before her Astronomy class at Hogwarts.

For comfort, she mentally traces and names a few of the familiar patters while subconsciously biting her lip. When pain finally jolts her back to reality, she sighs and offers a delayed, reluctant attempt at conversation, "Can we talk?"

He says nothing but he does turn his head just enough to meet her shaky eye contact.

Bella tries another approach, "I have to go home."

"Is that so?" He inquires darkly. His enigmatic expression does not waver as he takes a few steps closer to her. Bella forces herself to nod and he presses, "Then _go_."

He's close enough to touch her at this point and he takes full advantage of it: savoring the way she gasps softly and tenses when his fingers just barely brush over one side of her neck, pushing her hair aside and continuing down her shoulder and upper left arm. He traces that appendage from shoulder to elbow and back a few times before the girl tries to speak again.

"_You hurt me_," she whimpers, already on the verge of tears _again_.

His fingers curl around the arm he's been tracing. He squeezes with enough force to leave bruises and feigns indifference when she cries out. He repeats his earlier point with more emphasis, "I've hurt you before. The only factor that makes tonight any different is that you found and recognized your breaking point: what it is as well as the fact that you even have one."

"But I told you to stop!" She protests with more volume than actual strength.

"Yes, and I told you to give me a reason why I should stop; or why you wanted me to. It's over now. Can you think of _one_? And for that matter: can you think of why we use that curse so often in the first place? Do I torture you for your benefit or my own?"

He uses the arm in his grasp to spin her around and pull her body closely against his in a cold, frigid excuse for an embrace. "Or is it that we both still have things to teach each other?"


End file.
